


fleurs sauvages

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flowers, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So there’s columbines and azaleas and rosemary and then there’s aloe plants in the bathroom and prickly cactuses tucked into bookcases and tall spindly orchids climbing the stairs."</p>
<p>Wherein Castiel falls in love with flowers and Dean falls in love with Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fleurs sauvages

**Author's Note:**

> this is arguably canon-divergent and set in some weird time post-season 10 where cas has given up nearly all of his grace to remove the mark from dean and in doing so has rendered himself about 90% human with a few very limited powers left. idk idk it worked when i was writing it.
> 
> also on [tumblr](http://casfallsinlove.tumblr.com/).

When all is said and done, when it’s as over as it’s gonna get for them, Cas fills the bunker with plants.

It starts off small—just a potted columbine on the table in the library—but when Cas tells Dean later that, “It symbolizes faithlessness,” in a sad sort of voice it makes Dean want to tear down the world just to put things right.

He’s starting to learn that maybe that isn’t possible though, that maybe Cas is okay with being practically human again. Not many people would be all right with giving up practically everything they are to save Dean, but Dean thinks that if there was someone then that person would be Cas. Cas eats and sleeps again now but he laughs too and smiles and watches movies. And Cas is so important, having him here is so vital, that Dean looks at the flowers and says, “Huh. It’s... nice. Very purple.” And Cas looks at him like he knows Dean’s talking a load of bullshit but he appreciates the effort anyway.

 

 

 

Next it’s an azalea in full bloom, dropping little pale pink petals all over the floor. Dean curses under his breath as he sweeps them into a dustpan, knees aching on the tile.

“Gratitude,” Cas says from somewhere above him. “An azalea represents gratitude.”

He holds Dean’s gaze for just a couple of beats too long or maybe not long enough, and his palm is warm on Dean’s shoulder and Dean forgets completely to be mad.

“Yeah, okay, Cas,” he nods and later he moves the plant into their newly refurbished den and puts it right by the TV so he can pretend he isn’t looking at the bursts of flowers when he is.

 

 

 

After the azalea a pot of rosemary turns up in the kitchen by the sink. Dean blinks at its sudden appearance one morning over the rim of his mug and then raises his eyebrows at Sam when he ambles in in search of breakfast.

“Don’t look at me,” Sam snorts, grabbing the yogurt out of the fridge, “he said it’d be good for your cooking.”

“Where is he?”

Sam just shrugs so Dean pours another coffee and adds cream and sugar and butters four slices of toast that he slathers in blueberry jam. He bangs on Cas’s bedroom door with his elbow and shoulders his way in less than gracefully. Hot coffee sloshes down his wrist and drips on the floor and the toast nearly slides off the plate.

“Uh, hey,” he says to the lump under the covers and Cas’s head appears, squinting and wincing and yawning into the back of his hand.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean comes into the room more fully. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Oh.” Cas looks pleased. His right cheek is pillow-creased and his hair is all over the place. More often than not he’s a grumpy little shit in the mornings; Dean sorta loves that about him, loves watching Cas carve out his own space as a human. Cas goes clothes shopping now. He likes soft sweaters and flannel. He uses shampoo that smells like citrus and the same off-brand deodorant as Dean. He puts plants in Dean’s kitchen.

“So,” Dean says, stooping a little to pass over the plate and put the mug on the nightstand, “I was thinking about going to Hastings today. You comin’ with?”

Cas watches him curiously. “What for?”

“There’s this great butcher there and I was gonna get a lamb joint for dinner tonight.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Thought I could do a, uh, honey, lemon and rosemary marinade for it.”

He sees the moment that Cas gets it, that he understands Dean is trying to say _thank you_ and _please don’t ever leave_ , because Cas’s mouth does this little smiling thing and his eyes get brighter. “Yeah, I’ll go with you,” he nods, then pats the empty space beside him on the mattress and Dean doesn’t even hesitate, just goes, of course—of _course_ he does, and he sits on top of the covers and grins when Cas holds out the plate.

Their fingers and lips are sticky and purple by the time they’re finished eating but Dean is laughing so hard at Cas mocking Sam’s hair (“Do you ever think it’s a health and safety hazard, Dean?”) that he doesn’t even notice.

 

 

 

So there’s columbines and azaleas and rosemary and then there’s aloe plants in the bathroom and prickly cactuses tucked into bookcases and tall spindly orchids climbing the stairs.

“How are these even growing?” Dean wonders one day, the thought having occurred to him when he accidentally knocked over a chrysanthemum and had to hastily scoop the soil back into the pot before Cas came home from his run and noticed. “Like, I ain't no scientist but I coulda sworn flowers needed sunlight.”

Cas glances over at him before dropping his gaze back to the calandiva he's gently tending to. “I can’t do much anymore but I can keep these plants alive,” he says.

Dean watches as Cas touches a gentle fingertip to the stem, brushing over the leaves and petals, and for a second he could swear it softly glows. And he gets it. Cas is giving them light, giving them life. Cas, with dirt on his knuckles and under his fingernails, is literally bottled sunlight.

The image hits Dean so powerfully it makes his head spin and the breath catch in his throat. He reaches out and holds Cas's sleeve in his hand and he doesn't know where he's going with this, what the plan is here, he just feels like he's drifting and Cas is his anchor. So he wraps his fingers around Cas's wrist and Cas softens and lets him and then asks, “Would you like to help me prune?” so earnestly that Dean smiles when he says yes.

 

 

 

Cas grows tomatoes and strawberries in planter bags in the war room. He kneels on the floor and gently plucks the ripened fruit and drops it into bowls and Dean watches him with this sort of ache in his chest but whatever this is blossoming behind his ribs—and he thinks he knows—is easy now in a way it never has been before.

“Hey,” he says, voice thick.

Cas startles, but smiles when he looks up. He holds out the bowl of strawberries. “Want one?”

Something inside Dean, some last remnant of willpower, collapses. He walks over, just grabs Cas and hauls him to his feet and stares at his mouth and thinks _I want you_. “Cas,” he murmurs, slides his palm up Cas’s neck to hold his jaw. Cas is staring at him. He carefully watches the hand Dean uses to put the bowl on the table. Then he huffs out an impatient breath and grips the front of Dean’s shirt.

“Dean,” he says, and there’s a note of something like _finally_ in there somewhere when he pulls and Dean just goes, easy, and then their lips are catching, soft and damp, breath coming heavy through their noses. 

Dean smiles when they part, happiness swelling inside of him and spilling over until he’s kissing into Cas’s hair and behind his ear and over his eyelids and Cas is laughing into his shoulder, hands pawing at his chest.

“That was nice,” Cas whispers, eyes clear and blue.

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, leaning back in, “Yeah, it was.”

 

 

 

Dean takes a day trip to a garden center in Kansas City.

He doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going and he leaves before dawn. He’s got a plan and he’s sticking to it. The notes he’d printed off from Wikipedia are sitting on the seat next to him and the radio’s on and there’s a hickey on his collarbone that he can see every time he looks in the rearview mirror and his muscles ache in a way that reminds him he got laid last night and it was fucking fantastic. He feels pretty damn good.

The garden center is cold and smells like compost and Dean has to ask two employees before he finally finds what he’s looking for. The flowerpot is huge and heavy and the flowers get up Dean’s nose and make him sneeze when he heaves the damn thing to the checkout.

“For your yard?” the woman behind the register asks, practiced smile on her face.

“Uh, for my partner,” he says and only just doesn’t stumble over the words.

“It’s beautiful,” she coos, “Must be a special person.”

Dean hands her his card and agrees, “Yeah, he is.”

A few minutes later and he nearly loses his nerve when he realizes this means there will be bits of plant crap all over the Impala but grits his teeth and belts the pot into the front seat. He stops for lunch halfway back to Lebanon and texts Cas to meet him outside the bunker in a couple of hours, then floors it the whole way home.

Cas is waiting for him on the steps, playing on his phone—or texting Claire and Charlie those dumb emojis again—but he stands up and waves dorkily when Dean kills the car engine.

“Hey,” Dean greets and kisses him, lush and hot, crowding him up against the side of the Impala. “I went and got you something.”

“Dean, you didn’t have to—”

“Shut up, yeah I did.” Dean reaches into the car and shoves the plant at Cas, who blinks down at it. “It’s called a rainflower,” Dean explains, and he feels a little stupid now but soldiers on, “Or that’s what the internet said, but the dude at the garden center said it was called a rain lily, so. I dunno, I looked up, uh, plant symbolism on Wikipedia and this one, well.”

“I know it,” Cas tells him, touching the white petals gently, “ _I love you back, I must atone for my sins, I will never forget you_.”

“Yeah. Seemed pretty appropriate.”

Cas laughs quietly and puts the plant pot on the ground so he can bring Dean into a hug, arms firm around his shoulders. “I do love you,” he presses the words into the crook of Dean’s neck and Dean closes his eyes, holds him tighter, breathes out.

 

 

 

(amazing art by [femmechester](http://femmechester.tumblr.com/post/117401961092/cas-tending-his-azaleas-inspired-by))

 

 


End file.
